


Through waters green, the radiant sleeper greets

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical Endeavour Whump, Hypothermia, M/M, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: While investigating a lead, Morse ends up in trouble, and Strange has to get him out of it.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Jim Strange
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green





	Through waters green, the radiant sleeper greets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeperservice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeperservice/gifts).



> Title is taken from Wagner's [Das Rhinegold](http://www.murashev.com/opera/Das_Rheingold_libretto_English_German):
>
>> _Woglinde_  
>  Look, sisters!  
> The wakener laughs to the deep.
>> 
>> _Wellgunde_  
>  Through the waters green  
> the radiant sleeper he greets.
> 
> Unfortunately un-beta'd, as I am posting this waaaay too close to the deadline for comfort. OTL 

Morse knew the fact that his teeth were no longer chattering was a bad sign. Shivering was one of the body’s ways of keeping itself warm, and the fact that he’d stopped meant his body had decided to prioritize his internal organs in a likely futile attempt to keep him alive. Still, he couldn’t help feeling some slight relief as the lack of movement lessened the pain in his aching head. Perhaps it would allow him a little bit of clarity, and he could think his way out of this.

Nothing else had changed in the past half hour. Morse was still stuck in the bottom of a long-abandoned well on Christopher Brytons’s great-aunt’s property, knee-deep in stagnent, mucky water. The walls were still coated in green slime that made climbing out impossible, except where he’d tried to do just that, exposing the stone. His twisted ankle still throbbed and his trousers were still soaked all the way to his waist from his initial fall, but worst of all, he’d still not left word with the desk sergeant as to where he was off to. No one was coming for him.

Morse leaned heavily against the wall, and considered sliding down it and sitting in the rank and frigid water. He knew it was madness, that he’d only lose heat faster, and yet his aching legs screamed for him to rest, and his eyelids felt like lead. If it were only for a moment, he reasoned, just to take the weight off for a bit, perhaps it would be all right.

He blinked awake some time later, when a new noise caught his attention. Morse frowned and tilted his head, trying to puzzle out the source from the the muffled echoes that made its way down the stone shaft. It sounded like voices, deep voices, men’s voices. Voices yelling his name.

He struggled to his feet, and opened his mouth to answer, only to find out his own voice had deserted him along with all of his energy. He tried again, squeaking out a single, pathetic syllable. Finally, he managed an audible word, and was rewarded with a beat of silence before the shouts began again, louder and closer, then a shadow fell over him as something blocked out the fading sunlight.

“Morse? Morse! Is that you, matey?”

He squinted up, and raised a shaky hand. “Jim,” he wheezed, relief flooding his body with a final, desperate burst of energy.

Strange broke into a wide, relieved grin, then turned his head and shouted, “He’s here! Someone get a rope, he’s down a well!” He turned back to Morse. “We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy, matey, don’t you worry.”

Morse smiled weakly up at Strange, wobbling on his cold-numbed legs. “I know you will.”

Strange’s face did something funny that Morse couldn’t parse, and then he disappeared from view, and a rope with a large loop tied in the end dropped toward him . Morse stared at it for a long moment, his sluggish brain unable to parse what he was meant to do. “Put your legs through and have a seat,” Strange said, his voice catching Morse’s attention. “We’ll do the hard work.”

Right, of course. Strange knew he couldn’t climb the rope, not in his half-frozen state. Morse did as instructed, nearly falling over when he lifted his injured leg up to slide it through the loop. He caught the rope with cold-stiff fingers, and after an interminably long time, he managed to get settled on the makeshift seat.

The journey up from the well was slow and jerky, and it took everything Morse had in him to keep hold of the rope. Finally, strong hands reached down to hook under his armpits and drag him over the short stone wall and onto the muddy ground. “There we go,” Strange said as he wrapped his overcoat around Morse’s shoulders. “Let’s get you in the ambulance, then,” he added, pulling Morse upright.

Morse jerked away, and only Strange’s solid grip kept him from tumbling back toward the hole he’d only just crawled out of. “No hospital,” he gasped, shaking his head frantically. “Just cold. Take me home, I’ll be all right.”

“Morse—“

“Please, Jim,” Morse pleaded.

Strange frowned at him for a long moment, before he sighed and nodded. “But only if you come home with me,” he added, expression hardening. “No arguments.”

He didn’t give Morse a chance to argue, chivvying him into the passenger seat of his car. The heater was going full blast, and by the time Strange climbed into the driver’s seat, Morse had thawed enough to start shivering again. He hunched forward and wrapped Strange’s coat more tightly around him, trying to still his traitorous muscles.

“We’ll be at mine in no time, matey,” Strange said as he shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the dirt road that led from the Bryton property back toward Oxford. “Get you out of those wet things and into a hot bath. Put the kettle on and pour some tea down you, yeah? Fix you right up.”

Morse smiled weakly. “Thank you. For coming for me.”

Strange glanced over, his brow furrowed. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Morse shrugged, and didn’t answer. “How did you find me?”

“Not the only detective in the nick, you know,” Strange said, his mouth curling up in a fond smile. “You left Bryton’s file on your desk, with that photo of his mum laying on top. The secretary at the planning office remembered you, and was happy to show us the plats you were interested in.” He shrugged. “Easy to track you down from there.” Strange inclined his head toward Morse. “Would have been a sight easier if you’d left word where you were off to.”

Morse nodded and let himself relax into the seat. “Next time. I promise.”

As he slid toward unconsciousness, he heard Strange sigh. “Going to hold you to that, matey. Going to hold you to it.”


End file.
